


Oh slow, touchdown, you're grounded

by climbhigher



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, clarke/raven/octavia if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/climbhigher/pseuds/climbhigher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven feels like she’s floating in space again, but different too, the touch of Octavia’s fingers grounding her to the Earth.<br/>(or a Raven/Octavia retake on the last few episodes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh slow, touchdown, you're grounded

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up some time after Finn’s death, mostly follows canon except Lincoln/Octavia and Wick/Raven are platonic and the timeline is most definitely wrong.  
> title from here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZYck6Tq9cw

It has been eleven days since Finn died – since Clarke killed him, really, but she has been trying to crush that mindset – and Raven’s not sure if she’s getting better or if she’s thrown herself so far into her responsibilities that her grief has been scared away. If anything, it’s been helpful to everyone else; she’s as close to mass producing as a single person can get, and they’ve never been as prepared to take on the Mountain Men as they are right now.

Clarke stops by sometimes, to make sure Raven is okay, or maybe just to make sure she’s doing her job correctly – she is their _Commander_ after all. Whichever it is, it only irritates Raven further, puts her on edge, and Clarke always ends up leaving too soon, always looks at her with those sad regretful eyes that drive Raven deeper into resentment.

It’s not that she still blames Clarke – although her budding romance with the grounder responsible for Finn’s death and her own unwarranted torture didn’t help Raven’s forgiving process – but something about the soft tone of her voice, like she’s constantly scared of Raven’s reaction, and the never ending talk of _obligations_ and _necessary sacrifice_ and _Our People_ , make her want to drive a screwdriver through someone’s skin.

 _Finn_ was her people, and Finn is dead, and she doesn’t care about some vague idealistic bigger picture. She’s not being selfish, she’s doing what she needs to do to make everyone’s life easier, but her own happy ending bled out tied to a post like some offering to an alliance she doesn’t want any part of, and she’s not ready to move on.

 

***

 

The first time Octavia drops by the mechanics tent, Raven thinks it’s Clarke, and she snaps at her before she has a chance to open her mouth. In her defense, no one besides Clarke really visits much, out of fear or disinterest she doesn’t know, but it is still the reality of her situation. Raven glances back at her, and if Octavia is taken aback, she doesn’t let it show.

“Sorry, I just thought you were someone else.”

Octavia crosses over to the table where Raven is working, leans against it, arms crossed, assessing her with the steady unnerving gaze she’d recently picked up from Indra.

“Clarke, right?” Octavia guesses.

Raven scoffs but doesn’t look up from the piece she’s tinkering with, doesn’t want to see the pitying look in Octavia’s eyes.

“You know,” she continues, “you really need to start forgiving her for what she did to Finn. She had no ch–”

“Are you here for something in particular?” Raven interrupts, hand tightening around her screwdriver.

With a shrug, Octavia pushes off of the table, making the unstable metal rattle, and starts walking towards the door. Raven doesn’t need to turn around to see that her stride has changed, hears it in her footsteps and in the soft friction of sheath against leather.

“Clarke wanted to know how the walkies were coming along. I’ll let her know you’re doing your best.”

Once the tent is quiet again, Raven bangs her fist against the table, her entire body clenching in frustration. Her leg throbs, as it always does when she’s been working too long, but now her hand does too, less painful yet somehow more grounding.

 

***

 

A few days and a whole lot of Monty’s moonshine later, Raven’s stumbling through camp glaring at everyone who looks at her like she’s lost it. Predictably, she bumps into someone about three minutes after she leaves her tent. She feels hands on her forearms, preventing her from tumbling to the ground, and her eyes focus long enough to recognize Octavia’s face.

“Watch where you’re going, Blake, Raven mutters.

She shoves the steadying hands off her forearms, moving to walk past Octavia, but finds her path blocked by a strong grip.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Octavia’s voice is loud, unrestrained, reminds Raven of the fresh-faced sixteen year old she met her first day on the ground, the one slowly disappearing under the smear of her war paint.

Raven refuses to look at her, grinds out a “Get your hands off me,” still trying to walk away.

Octavia doesn’t let go, only sneers at her until Raven finally meets her stare.

“I swear to God, Octavia, if you don’t move out of my way…” Her tone is threatening, but her words are slurred and her body is swaying lightly even as she holds Octavia’s glare.

“What, you’ll drink me to death?” she taunts, and Raven can’t stand that the grounder clothes make her look taller than she really is. “Come on, Raven, the entire camp knows you’re all bark and no bite.”

“Please. Just let me go.” She grits her teeth, voice softer now, and if Octavia’s eyes soften as well, Raven pretends not to notice.

Octavia’s arm drops to her side, and Raven steps forward. “You know at some point you’re gonna have to get over yourself. We’ve all lost people. It sucks, and it’s painful, but you need to stop blaming Clarke, or Lexa, or whoever it is you’re blaming this week for the shit your ex-boyfriend pulled. No one forced him to pull the trigger on that village.”

Raven only groans in response as she staggers away.

 

            ***

 

“ _Shof op_ , Sky girl.”

“Or what, you’ll tie me to a post and torture me? Oh wait, I forgot, you already did that.”

It’s barely been an hour since their run in when Octavia hears Raven’s intoxicated voice again, and she turns around to find her staring down some six feet tall grounder whose name she can’t recall. Well, staring up. They’re merely inches apart, and there’s a dangerous mix of anger and disdain on the man’s face. Raven, on the other hand, looks like she can barely stand. Octavia lets out an exasperated sigh, but her legs are already walking her toward them.

She finds herself grabbing Raven’s arm once again, slipping her other hand around her waist before there can be any protests. “Okay, Raven, let’s go.” Turning to the grounder, she struggles to remember the correct words and tries to look as apologetic as she can manage. Raven is mumbling something under her breath, and Octavia can make out what sounds like _branwada_ coming out of the grounder’s mouth as they head back to Raven’s tent.

Inside, Octavia all but drops Raven onto her bed, before trying to get her into a sitting position. She notices blood on Raven’s left arm, places the limb on her lap to examine it with careful hands.

“How did you even- never mind, I don’t wanna know.” She stands up, making sure Raven doesn’t fall over in the process. “I really hope that’s your own because I’m not about to get your ass out of another one of your suicidal attempts at taking on grounders.”

“S’mine.” She’s struggling to keep her eyes open and Octavia grabs her face with both hands to get her attention.

“Great.” She turns around, heading for the door. “I’m gonna go get some bandages; try not to pass out while I’m gone.”

 

***

 

When she comes back, Raven is looking intently at the floor, and Octavia’s not sure she’s fully awake. She kneels down in front of her, bandages in one hand, and moves to grab Raven’s injured arm with the other.

Immediately, Raven jerks back, snapped out of her trance, swaying dangerously to the side.

“Raven,” Octavia warns, “I’m not exactly an experienced healer, so either you stop moving and let me do this, or I’m gonna have to go get Abby, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want that right now.”

Raven’s jaw clenches, and something like regret passes through her eyes, but she sticks her arm out in front of her and lets Octavia clean the wound. She works quietly for a few moments, Raven’s eyes fixed on her movements.

“You know you should talk to Clarke, right?” Octavia offers, “She misses you.”

Raven keeps quiet, eyes still strained on Octavia’s hands as they meticulously wrap the tissue around her wound.

“Look, trust me,” she continues, “I know about resentment. I spent sixteen years living under the floor of my mother’s room just because I was born at the wrong time. I’ve had time to resent pretty much everyone alive on the Ark.” She’s done bandaging her arm and she raises her head to look at Raven, hands moving to rest on her knees. “I know you think Clarke betrayed you, that she killed Finn; but truth is, Finn was dead the minute he decided to murder eighteen innocent people in that village. Clarke just gave him an easier way out.”

Raven is visibly sobering up, no longer swaying from side to side; her eyes are back on the ground, avoiding Octavia’s understanding ones, not fast enough for Octavia not to notice the tears in them, but fast enough for her to know it’s time to leave.

“Just think about it okay?”

She stands up, gets halfway to the exit before Raven’s voice reaches her ears.

“I’m sorry, O.”

It’s hoarse, and much too soft, but she hears it anyway, turns around to face Raven again and finds her looking straight at her.

“Don’t apologize.” Her tone is hard, but her posture relaxes, her head tilting to the side before she continues. “Another thing I learned in those sixteen years underground? There aren’t that many people who would stick their necks out for you. Clarke is one of those few, so go talk to her. Just try not to punch her this time, alright?”

Raven nods slowly, and Octavia swears she sees a hint of a smile on her face before she lowers her head again.

 

***

 

Standing in front of Clarke’s tent, tired and hungover, Raven considers turning back to hide out in her bed for at least twelve more hours, but Octavia’s words are still at the back of her head. Sighing in resignation, she opens the flap of the tent and sees Clarke sitting on the floor, a piece of charcoal in her hand.

“Can I come in?” she asks tentatively, sticking her head through the opening.

Looking up from her drawing, Clarke furrows her brow for an instant before her face slips back into a neutral expression.

“Sure,” she answers, quickly getting up from the floor.

Raven makes her way into the tent, hands fidgeting with each other. “So, you and Lexa, huh? You sure moved on fast,” she says after a beat, looking around the tent.

Clarke sighs, getting up from her spot on the ground. “If you’re here to lecture me on my personal relationships, Raven, you can leave.” Her eyes harden and she crosses her arms. “I don’t need to hear it.”

Raven curses under her breath. “Sorry, I just- I came here to talk, Clarke. But honestly, I have no idea where to start.”

Clarke’s arms fall to her side, and she steps closer to Raven, stopping once she’s at arm’s length. “Is this about Finn?”

Raven shifts her eyes to the ground. “Yes? No. I’m not sure. Octavia said I should come see you.” One hand reaches to rub at the back of her neck. “Look, I’m sorry I punched you.” Clarke nods briefly, lips in a tight line. Raven’s mouth opens hesitantly before continuing, “But how can you forgive her? After what she had you do to Finn? After what she did to me? God, Clarke, how can you even look at her?”

Clarke exhales loudly. “I don’t expect you to understand.” Raven scoffs. “Finn massacred eighteen of her people, Raven. The grounders have their rules. Lexa was just following them. She could have had me killed for what I did, but she didn’t.” Clarke’s eyes are almost pleading now, and Raven can’t bring herself to look at them. The silence in the tent is heavy, for a few seconds.

“And what about me?” she asks, too soft. “You said you’d pick me first.” Her voice breaks on the last word, sand she wipes angrily at her eyes before tears can make their way down her cheeks. Guilt crosses over Clarke’s features and something close to satisfaction washes over Raven at the sight.

“Raven, I-” Brown eyes are staring deeply into her own, now, and Clarke is at loss. “She thought you’d tried to poison her. She was just- she was just following their rules.”

Raven considers protesting, considers fighting back, but there is a throbbing at the back of her head and a deeper ache inside of her chest that won’t seem to go away.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it was beneficial to us all. You know our people come first.” For once, Raven doesn’t feel the urge to roll her eyes at the words, feels something loosen in her stomach instead. Clarke reaches out to grab her restless hands. “You’re my people, Raven.” Her thumb strokes over worn knuckles. “But I’d like to think you’re my friend too.”

Raven looks away, throat tight, lets her hand fall to her sides. Clarke starts to step back, but Raven throws her arms around her neck before she can put any distance between them. Taken aback, Clarke takes a second to react before wrapping her own arms around Raven’s waist. She feels tears against her skin and tightens her hold, stays that way until Raven starts to pull back. Wiping away at her face with one hand, she offers a weak smile, but it reaches her eyes and Clarke can’t help but press a kiss against Raven’s cheek.

They stay silent for a moment, until Raven chuckles. “Well, I have to go tell Octavia she can start bragging about her mediating skills.”

Clarke’s laugh is relieved, and she’s still smiling when Raven turns back to look at her before exiting the tent.

 

***

 

When Raven approaches her that afternoon, Octavia is training with Indra. They are fighting with short swords, or long knives, Raven doesn’t really know, and she stops to observe from the sidelines.

Octavia’s movements have gotten precise, and her blows powerful, but Indra manages to disarm her nonetheless. Down to her bare hands, Octavia steps closer to Indra to avoid the disadvantage of her situation. She manages to grab onto Indra’s swinging arm, but her reaction is quick and soon enough Octavia is on her back, groaning from the impact, Indra’s knees pinning her arms into the dirt.

Getting up, Indra holds out her hand for Octavia to grab and helps her get to her feet, grunting a few words in Trigedasleng. Octavia nods curtly and Indra dismisses her with a wave of her hand.

Raven walks up to her while she’s taking off part of her armor. “That was impressive.” Octavia looks at her with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow.

“I got my ass handed to me,” she answers.

“By the commander’s second.” Raven looks her up and down, the corner of her lips twitching up. “You don’t seem too beaten up either. I’m just saying it’s a change from the last time you tried to take on a grounder.”

She sits down on the stump next to Octavia’s things, waits for her to finish and take a seat at her side.

“How’s your arm healing?” she asks, grabbing a water canteen from the floor.

“It’s alright. Thanks for… last night. I should probably cut back on Monty’s alcoholic experiments, huh?” Her smile is almost embarrassed.

“If that’s your way of apologizing, Reyes, I told you last night it wasn’t necessary. I know you talked to Clarke. We’re good.” She hands Raven the water, cracks her neck before getting up again. “Now if you don’t mind,” she says slipping back into her shoulder pieces, “I have to get back to being knocked into the dirt repeatedly.” Walking backwards to the training ground, she throws Raven a confident grin. “Feel free to stay and watch.”

Raven answers with an eye roll, but she can’t help the infectious nature of Octavia’s smile. And if she stays until the end of Octavia’s sparring session, she tells herself it is because of the strain in her overworked leg, and not because of the way Octavia’s eyes look as she assesses her opponent or the way her entire body heaves when she manages to pin Indra to the ground.

 

***

 

Over the next week, when she’s not training or attending to her duties as Indra’s second, Octavia starts dropping by the mechanics tent more and more.

It starts with a broken radio Clarke asks her to get fixed, happens again when Jasper drops the walkie Bellamy throws at him. Raven curses every time, mumbling about respect and hard work, and Octavia has to stifle a laugh. She watches in silence most of the time, lets Raven work the way she likes best. Every once in a while, Raven asks for a tool, and by her fourth day there, Octavia is starting to get familiar with all of them.

She sits on a stool near Raven and practices Trigedasleng in her head, out loud when Raven asks her, and does not get distracted by the hands working meticulously next to her. Raven makes comments, sometimes, about certain words, how she thinks they evolved from English, and Octavia learns that she’s a surprisingly good storyteller.

They don’t talk about the Ark, not yet, though Octavia knows Raven misses the sky. They don’t talk about Finn, either, but he is missed as well. Octavia thinks she misses him like family most days, like the home she’s lost more than as the boy she loved, but she knows it’s not her place to push.

It’s an easy routine to fall into, even over the course of a few days, and so they do.

The sixth day, when Octavia steps into the tent not long before nightfall, she finds Raven hunched over the metal table, laughing at something the guy leaning on the opposite side of the table said to her. He looks pleased with himself and Octavia feels something rising in her at the sight.

“Hey. I can come back another time if you want.” She’s looking straight at Raven, pointedly ignoring the other person in the room.

“What? No, why? This is Wick.” He waves at her with a dopey grin.

“Actually, it’s Kyle. Reyes here just has issues remembering things that don’t involve numerical data.” She punches his arm lightly, playful scowl on her face, and Octavia feels that pang in her chest again.

“Hey. Nice to meet you.” She gives a polite smile before looking to Raven again. “Actually, I just remembered Indra wants me to go with the hunting party tonight. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She turns around before Raven has a chance to answer.

She walks fast to catch up with the hunters. She can probably still tag along without too many questions, and the exercise might help clear her head of the angry voice at the back of her head.

Before she can get to them, she hears footsteps on the gravel behind her and hears Raven call out her name. She slows down, not wanting to turn around, until she feels a hand grasping her arm. Raven is looking at her, her forehead creased in concern.

“You okay, O? You ran out pretty fast.”

“I’m fine. Like I said, I’m just needed for the hunt.” She smiles tightly.

“Bullshit. I heard Brent talking about it earlier, and I know you and him aren’t on the same party.” Her frown has turned annoyed now.

“How do you even know that?” Octavia deflects.

“Does that really matter? What’s really going on?” Raven presses, letting go of her grip on Octavia to cross her arms.

“Nothing, it’s fine. You just looked busy with Kyle. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Wick? He was just telling me some stupid joke about engineers.” Raven looks genuinely confused and Octavia looks down at the ground for a split second. “I don’t get what- Oh my god.” Raven’s eyes go comically wide. “Did you think we were flirting?” She lets out a laugh. “Oh my god, Octavia he’s like my brother. My very annoying older brother.”

Octavia feels her cheeks heat up and she wishes her war paint were there to hide it. “Okay, fine. I just didn’t want to get in the way of you getting romanced by pretty boys.” Raven’s nose scrunches up in disgust before she throws her arm around Octavia’s shoulders, dragging her back toward the tent.

“Come on. You’re never in the way, Pocahontas.”

 

***

 

“She is good for you,” Indra tells her, one day, after training, when they are sharpening their weapons.

Octavia is confused, at first, but does not let it show, keeps working diligently on her blade. “Who is?”

“The Sky girl you have been spending time with. The one with the bad attitude.” Indra’s voice is hard but there is no sign of disdain.

“Raven?” Octavia’s voice gets high on the last syllable and she curses herself for showing weakness in front of her mentor.

“Yes. She is foolish. She tried to fight Hektor.” Octavia winces at the memory.” But her leg. _Em nou drag raun_. She is strong. She is a warrior like you.”

“A survivor.” Octavia smiles to herself.

Indra looks at her intently, and Octavia’s hands falter. “We had our differences,” she says. “But we are friends.” She holds the stare the way she has been taught, until Indra nods tightly, looks back to her weapon.

“Friendship is a noble thing,” Indra declares. Octavia braces herself for more, but it does not come. Indra goes back to the task at hand, and if Octavia gets the feelings that something is left unsaid, she does not question her superior.

 

***

 

Octavia comes back from TonDC heavy with something Raven can’t place, chalks it up to the effect of the missile, but she notices the wedge between her and Clarke, the cold glances Octavia steals when Clarke walks by.

She recognizes the feeling, bore it for some time after Finn’s death, and it makes her confront Octavia despite the warning signs.

Octavia refuses to tell her anything, and the both of them get progressively angrier, until Raven snaps at her, tells her that if she forgave Clarke for Finn, Octavia can get over whatever happened in TonDC. Octavia scoffs at her, bites back that Finn got what was coming to him.

Raven freezes and the regret on Octavia’s face is almost instantaneous, but the damage has been done, and Raven storms off into her tent before she can get any more words out.

At sundown, when Raven doesn’t show at dinner, Octavia stops by her quarters             to drop off some food. She finds her welding something together, protective gear masking her face, and Octavia sits down on her usual seat.

The sparks and humming stops, and Raven raises her helmet, stares her down with red rimmed eyes. Octavia pushes the food toward her on the table; Raven pushes the helmet down over her face again.

Octavia gets up from her stool, reaches around the table to turn off the iron. “I’m sorry.”

Raven takes off her helmet completely, annoyance seeping from her features. “Is this your way of showing it?”

“This sounds familiar,” Octavia jokes, and Raven grabs the food from the table. “Are you gonna ask me to talk to Clarke next?”

Raven stares at her, chewing on piece of meat. “I don’t care what you do.” Octavia exhales. Raven rolls her eyes, grabbing a fistful of berries that she shoves into her mouth. “But you did tell me Clarke doesn’t do things for no reason. I’m not sure what she did this time, and you don’t have to tell me. And maybe you’re right to be mad at her, maybe you have every reason, but think about all she’s had to do for us the past few weeks. Try giving her a break, O.”

She ends her speech throwing a berry at Octavia. Octavia smiles, and Raven does too, even if she tries to hide it, and they don’t speak of it again.

 

***

 

“This is a terrible idea,” Octavia whispers into her ear.

“Come on, Pocahontas. Live a little.” Raven’s hand is warm in hers, leading her through the grass, and it does not help to make her protests more convincing.

“I live plenty. I’m pretty sure wandering into the woods at night is more likely to make us die a little.” She hears Raven chuckle.

“Please? I just need to get away from camp for a while.” She glances back with pleading eyes.

“You know if the guards see us, they’re going to shoot us, right?” They’re following along the barbed wires until they can cross to the woods unnoticed.

“We’re leaving for a _battle_ tomorrow. This might be the last chance we get to be reckless. Octavia Blake, will you please come enjoy it with me?” Her hushed voice still manages to sound overly dramatic and Octavia rolls her eyes at her.

“Fine, spacewalker.” Raven had told her the story a couple of days earlier, a flask of moonshine passing between them, tears shining in her brown eyes, and the warmth Octavia had felt in that moment had had little to do with the fire in front of them.

They run to the trees under the cover over darkness, praying to whatever God that the guards standing watch don’t catch them, and it’s exhilarating: Raven feels like she’s floating in space again, but different too, the touch of Octavia’s fingers grounding her to the Earth.

They reach the edge of the forest and Octavia stops running once they’re sheltered away by the trees, Raven almost crashing into her as they come to a halt. She’s laughing bright and clear, and she looks younger than Raven has seen her since she walked into camp on her first day on the ground.

The moonlight is reflecting into Octavia’s clear eyes and Raven _hates_ poetry, but she sees a glimpse of the Sky, and the Earth etched into scarred skin, thinks maybe she can make a home here after all.

Octavia backs into a tree, and she is looking at her with unsettling intensity.

“So.  What do you want to do now, Reyes?” she asks with a mischievous grin.

“I hadn’t thought this far,” Raven admits.

“Shocking,” Octavia snarks back.

“You spent sixteen years confined to twenty square feet of metal. You come up with something.” Octavia’s mouth drops open.

“I can’t believe you would use my traumatizing childhood against me like this.”

“We’ve all been through shit, Octavia.” They are grinning at each other, gleeful faces contrasting with their words, until Octavia darts forward, touches her hand to her shoulder.

“Tag!” she shout-whispers before taking off running into the woods, leaving Raven frozen in surprise. Laughing in disbelief, she starts going after Octavia, eyes quickly growing used to the darkness surrounding them.

She has been walking for less than a minute when a hand grabs around her wrist and pulls her behind a tree, hand coming to rest over her mouth. Octavia makes a shushing motion with her other hand, gesturing to a couple of grounders making the rounds a few feet from them.

Octavia is pressed against her, trying to use her dark clothes as camouflage, and she hasn’t taken her eyes off of the patrolling grounders. Raven, for her part, can’t look away from the muscles straining in Octavia’s neck, can’t think with Octavia’s chest rising and falling against her own.

Raven isn’t sure how many minutes pass before Octavia steps away from her, declaring the guards gone and the path clear. Her cheeks are flushed and she is grateful for the lack of visibility in the woods.

“You were right, this _is_ fun,” Octavia murmurs happily.

Tomorrow, they will go back to being what they need to be, they will go back to being warriors, and survivors, and killers. But right now, hiding from the world, Octavia looks unbearably seventeen, carefree, and Raven steps forward to kiss her.

Octavia responds immediately, grabbing onto Raven’s hips to bring her closer. Raven’s hands come up to rest against Octavia’s face, thumb stroking over the fresh scar healing at her cheekbone, and it makes Octavia sigh into her mouth.

Raven breaks away after a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of Octavia’s breath against her chapped lips, strong fingers digging into her sides. Taking a step back, she drops her hands to Octavia’s jacket, fidgeting with the leather strap. “We should head back.” She whispers, voice low, looking at Octavia’s lips.

Octavia nods, grabs one of Raven’s hands from her jacket and leads her back to camp, chest light and heavy with what is to come.

 

***

 

“This is a bad idea.” Raven’s voice is breathy, in between kisses, Octavia’s hands carefully leading her to the covers spread out on the floor of her tent.

Octavia stops, fingers stroking down Raven’s neck to her collarbone. “You told me a while ago that you didn’t want to fight with me. I was petty. And hurt. But you didn’t take the bait.”

“I tortured Lincoln.” She’s having trouble focusing when Octavia’s looking at her like that. She’s starting to wonder if their conversation makes sense.

“We are not the things war made us do.” Octavia’s lips kiss down to her neck, sucking hard at her pulse point.

“I slept with your brother.” Raven’s breath hitches when Ocatvia bites down lightly, and her hands trail over Octavia’s back, latching on for balance.

“I’m sure he’s over it.” Octavia starts tugging at her shirt, urging Raven to raise her arms over her head.

“I-“

Octavia’s hands let go. “Will you just shut up and trust that I’m smart enough to make my own decisions concerning my own relationships?”

“Fine.” Staring defiantly into darkened eyes, she drags her Henley over her head, reaches back to unclasp her bra, and steps forward to capture Octavia’s lips again, tongue trailing over her bottom lip. The hands resting once again on her hips lift her up, swiftly lower her to the floor, Octavia following as she kneels between her legs.

She moves to unbuckle Raven’s brace, fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar mechanism until warm hands settle on top of hers.

“Let me.” Raven makes quick work of it, discarding it to the side, and Octavia takes off what’s left of her armor. She lowers herself to press a kiss to Raven’s sternum, to the small scars constellating left of her heart, before letting shaky hands lift her tank top over her head.

Raven’s hands move to the waistband of her pants, but Octavia stops her. She looks at her with questioning eyes, reddened lips and flushed cheeks, and Octavia loses track of her thoughts for a moment. Raven runs her nails over her stomach.

Octavia shakes her head, unbuttoning Raven’s jeans. “You first.”  

 

***

 

They go off to war the next day; Raven leaves with a playful “don’t get killed” and desperate eyes hidden into the crook of Octavia’s neck, and Octavia mumbles “don’t get blown up” into brown hair. Clarke smiles at them from a distance and Raven feels her stomach turn in apprehension.

 

***

 

Lexa betrays them, and Octavia feels torn between ground and sky again, remembers Bellamy trapped in that metal labyrinth, and Raven on the front lines, and Indra leaves without her, without a second glance.

 

***

 

They find their people, amidst a sea of irradiated bodies, but Clarke loses herself.

 

***

 

Octavia carries her back to camp, and Raven sleeps for most of the way, wakes up long enough to crack a joke about Octavia working out.

 

***

 

They reach Camp Jaha before nightfall, but Clarke leaves without saying goodbye.

Octavia sees her brother’s face, watches Monty’s hands curl desperately around his cardigan, hears the unshed tears in Raven’s voice, and she knows they need closure.

She asks Lincoln for help, even though he is hurting as well. He is stronger than they are, in the face of grief, and Octavia feels infinitely grateful that he chose to protect them.

They light a fire she hopes is big enough to shake the cold out of their bones, bring food and drinks in abundance, and she lets people mourn, lets them celebrate, lets them reunite.

She finds Raven drinking next to the fire, takes a seat to her left, relishes in their thighs warm against each other. Octavia’s armor is off, for tonight at least, the sting of betrayal still in her ribcage, and she raises her glass.

“To Clarke.” Her voice is steady enough.

Raven raises her own, with a weak smile. “To Clarke.”  Their glasses clink and Raven swallows hard, gulps down most of her drink. Octavia rests her head on her shoulder, and sees Bellamy smiling at them from where he is standing, surrounded by Monty and Harper.

“She’ll be okay.” Octavia says, softly. Raven’s hand is rubbing at her injured leg, nervously, and Octavia lays her own hand over it.

“Will we?” Raven looks at her, eyes tired and hopeful, and Octavia has to press her mouth against hers, moves up to kiss away the worried lines creasing her forehead.

“I think we might.” she answers.

She looks around the fire at the people still here, still alive, at something that looks like home, and for today, at least, she really thinks they will be.


End file.
